


Afterwards

by sherlockcrush



Series: What do you mean alarming? [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkwardness, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockcrush/pseuds/sherlockcrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Takes place after the famous "Sherlock in a sheet in Buckingham Palace" scene in the "Scandal in Belgravia." *Is* Sherlock alarmed by sex?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterwards

Sherlock Holmes: Dominatrix... [looking at a picture of Irene Adler]  
Mycroft Holmes: Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex.  
Sherlock Holmes: Sex doesn't alarm me.  
Mycroft Holmes: How would you know?

-Scandal in Belgravia, Sherlock BBC

  
\---  
That evening, after curry takeout, John eyes Sherlock as he pats his mouth with the thin paper napkin. He sits back in the chair, finger nervously tapping on the arm of the chair. Sherlock is thinking. When is he ever not?  
  
“I can hear your thoughts from here,” Sherlock says, eyes still closed, hands together, the tips of his long fingers just barely touching his lips.  
  
“Sorry?” John says, nonchalantly picking up a magazine and opening it.  
  
“You’re thinking. Loudly. I can hear from across the room.”  
  
“Sorry. I’ll try to think more quietly.”  
  
“Whatever it is, just say it,” Sherlock says, sounding almost bored. “Then maybe it won’t be such a loud thought.”  
  
John swallows. “Well. It’s just, well, what exactly did Mycroft mean?”  
  
“Mycroft?” Sherlock’s eyes open and he pins John to the chair with his steel blue eyes.  
  
“Yes, when he asked ‘how would you know?’” Sherlock blinks slowly. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said anything,” John says after a moment of silence. He goes back to his magazine.  
  
Sherlock closes his eyes again, but John swears he can feel those steel grey eyes on him nonetheless.  
\---  
Later, in the privacy of his room, John groans softly as he rubs his hand up and down his cock. He gives it a good twist at the end and nearly cries out, barely covering the sound. His head hits the wall behind him with a small thud as he speeds up. Suddenly his bedroom door opens.  
  
His hand reflexively goes to the nightstand drawer where he keeps a small pistol. He relaxes when he recognizes Sherlock’s tall lanky frame standing in the doorway and framed by light from the hall. John squints to see his face.  
  
“My dear brother is, unfortunately, correct.”  
  
John notes the derision dripping from the words. “Erm, right?” he asks, pulling the blanket up to cover himself and turning on the bedside lamp. He blinks up at his flatmate.  
  
“Yes. Sadly even Mycroft is correct sometimes.”  
  
“Ok,” John says after a moment, having decided that it is clearly the safest thing to say. Sherlock crosses his arms and leans almost casually against the door jam. He’s wearing his red silk robe over pajamas. His feet are bare. He stares intently at John with a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
After a moment in which John does some mental math to check that he is, in fact awake and not having a very odd wet dream, he looks up again and says, “So, um, what exactly is Mycroft correct about?” _And why are you telling me this at 1:00am?_ But he doesn’t say that. He’s given up on pointing out Sherlock’s eccentricities.  
  
“That I don’t know,” Sherlock says. The way he nearly grinds out those three words makes John think that they are very costly to say.  
  
John blinks. His mind is foggy and it takes a moment to place the words. How would you know? “Ah. You mean…about – sex?” John blinks several times the way he does when he’s nervous.  
  
Sherlock nods, the smile on his lips twisting in a way that could almost be predatory. He is still leaning casually against the door. “It occurs to me that I should know. It’s important to know these kinds of things, especially since so many people are motivated by it.”  
  
John nods as if this is exactly the type of conversation he expects to have in the middle of the night when his flatmate bursts in on him masturbating. “By sex? Well, yes.”  
  
That is when Sherlock moves from his perch and swoops down on his flatmate, surprising him by sitting on the edge of John’s bed. He puts his hand on John’s knee over the blanket. John tenses but doesn’t move. He’s not wearing a shirt and, despite the fact that Sherlock has seen him shirtless before, he suddenly feels rather naked.   
  
“John. It occurs to me that I should know whether sex is alarming. It would seem prudent that I learn about it and thus deepen my observations on human behavior.”  
  
“Learn about -? Wait. You mean that wasn’t just brotherly teasing? I thought he was just trying to get a rise out of you. Sherlock, are you telling me that you’re a – a virgin?”  
  
“I prefer to think of it as being free of the distractions of sexual intercourse that, by its nature, would interrupt my deductive thought process.”  
  
“What? Like digestion?” John asks with a smirk.  
  
“Yes, exactly. I’m glad you understand my hypothesis.”  
  
“Your – hypothesis?”  
  
“That I should experiment with sex to learn more about it. To see if it is indeed – alarming.”  
  
“Ah. Erm. Well, ok,” John manages to say, looking down at where Sherlock’s hand is still on his leg. He can feel the heat and weight of the hand through the blanket. _How is it possible that the other man’s hand is that hot?_  
  
“I’m glad you agree,” Sherlock says. He leans forward even further into John’s personal space.  
  
“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asks, leaning away a just bit.  
  
“Oh. I thought you understood,” Sherlock replies, sitting back, perplexed.  
  
John takes a deep breath, reaching the edge of his patience with the seemingly endless roundabout conversation. “Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you talking about?!”  
  
Sherlock stares at him intensely. For a moment John thinks that his flatmate is about to insult his intelligence. “It seems I didn’t make myself clear. Would you....would you like me to help you with that?” His eyes lower to the still mostly-present bulge visible under the blanket. At this mention, John’s cock perks up in interest.  
  
John blinks. He tries to come up with something to say, and isn’t sure whether he should jump out of the bed and run, or grab Sherlock’s hand and press it wantonly between his legs. He settles for gaping at Sherlock’s hand, which has moved an inch up his leg.  
  
“It is clear, John, that you are surprised by my suggestion. I do not believe that it is practical to maintain cultural norms or even avoid taboos while conducting my…experiments. And since I clearly interrupted what appeared to be a very pleasurable activity when I entered your room, I thought I could, perhaps, join you.” He looks up, eyes brows raised in question.  
  
John can’t help it. He smiles. The speech is so incredibly Sherlock; bold, clinically dispassionate, and blunt. As if he isn’t suggesting they have a wank together.   
  
Taking the smile as acquiescence, Sherlock smiles just a bit and reaches his hand out, boldly palming John through the blanket.  
  
John’s eyes close and his head falls back against the wall. The hand touching him so intimately doesn’t move. It just…presses, forcing him to feel. He opens his eyes. Sherlock is staring at his face intently. “Fuck, Sherlock,” John breathes, swallowing and licking his dry lips.  
  
“I don’t believe that we have reached that stage of our relationship, John,” Sherlock says with a smirk.

John giggles softly, mind threatening to overload at the sheer oddness of it all as his eyes slip down his body to where Sherlock's hand is still pressing on his cock through the blanket. When he looks up, he catches Sherlock’s eyes moving up from the point of contact.  
  
They stare at each other for a long silent moment. _His pupils are dilated,_ John thinks, and then laughs softly at himself. _Lord, I’m starting to think like him._  
  
“Do you – want me to leave?” Sherlock asks, his low voice washing over John’s senses. John hears the moment of hesitancy, insecurity.  
  
“No,” he whispers.  
  
“I had thought as much,” Sherlock says with a smile. He starts to move his hand, rubbing John’s cock through the thin blanket. John’s hand slowly moves, reaching for Sherlock’s thigh, which is startlingly close to his own.  
  
When John puts his hand on Sherlock’s thigh, the other man groans softly, eyes falling shut as if this is the most pleasurable touch he’s ever felt.   
  
_It occurs to me that I should know._   
  
John’s eyes widen as he realizes that it’s possible that that is the most pleasurable touch he’s ever felt. His heart suddenly aches for the other man. He’s so brilliant yet so utterly…innocent in some ways.  
  
John stills Sherlock’s hand with his own, the dark haired man looks up at him, a flash of doubt on his face.  
  
“I want to – Sherlock let me show you –“ He leans forward and, meeting Sherlock’s eyes, runs his hand down his cheek, running his thumb over his bottom lip. He swallows nervously and leans more, touching his lips barely to the other man’s.  
  
They stay like that, just lightly touching, until Sherlock presses forward. When they kiss, it hits them with an intensity that throws John off balance. He grips Sherlock’s arm and waist, moaning softly as the other man’s hands run over his body. It’s as if Sherlock is trying map out his body with his long aristocratic fingers.  
  
They pull apart, panting. The blanket has somehow shifted and John’s cock is bare and hard and wanting. John doesn’t move to cover it up, letting Sherlock look. And he does look, long and hard until John shifts under the scrutiny.  
  
John reaches out and unbuttons Sherlock’s pajama top, slowly uncovering his pale skin. When it’s fully unbuttoned, he pushes it off Sherlock’s shoulders. He runs a hand down the skin. He’s seen Sherlock with his top off before. They’re flatmates. But he’s never given into the impulse to touch until now.  
  
“Since this is your experiment, what do you want to do?”  
  
“John…” Sherlock murmurs, running his hand over John’s bare chest. “I think, over time, I should ensure that I properly experience – everything. For the sake of the experiment, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” John says with a smile. “Well then, I’m entirely at your disposal.”


End file.
